


My Open Defiance

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [67]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23430670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: One of the students came up to them afterwards to ask timidly for a private word...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 36
Kudos: 1146





	My Open Defiance

One of the students came up to them afterwards to ask timidly for a private word. Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a long wordless look that spoke far more clearly of their closeness than any physical touch, and then shrugged.

Aziraphale said, "My office is closest, if that is acceptable?"

The student nodded and trailed after them.

***

Crowley lounged back in the chair Aziraphale had cleared for him, folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow over his dark glasses. "Well?"

The kid stared at her shoes. "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"Try us," Aziraphale corrected, folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward to show his interest.

She sighed. "Did you- did you mean it when you said you don't have to touch to be close?"

"'Course." Crowley shrugged a shoulder. It crackled at the movement, and he bit back a grimace. "So you don't like touching or being touched then?"

The kid's mouth dropped open and then tears welled up at the simple recognition.

Aziraphale started to instinctively reach out a hand to comfort her, then hastily withdrew it at Crowley's look, and produced a box of tissues instead.

Crowley went on, patiently, "Sometimes you can't touch. Just means you find other ways to express how you feel. Can be something that only the two of you recognise, can be something more - obvious."

"Everyone says..."

Aziraphale huffed, "They say a lot of things. Regretfully, they're often either incomplete, incorrect, or both."

She sniffed and looked at Crowley. "You didn't look entirely comfortable touching. I hoped..."

He shrugged, cautiously. "Wasn't that long ago that being openly affectionate would have severe consequences. Really wasn't long ago that we couldn't even have dreamed of being married, but here we are. Being open about it - that's his way of being defiant." He tipped his head towards Aziraphale.

The kid's gaze raked over him. "But not yours?"

He met the gaze with steady sunglasses and tight lips. "I defy categorisation," he said, his mouth as dry as his words.

"Oh." She dried her face and pushed the tissues away. "Thank you for your time," she said stiffly, and walked out.

Crowley stared at the closed door and wearily rubbed his forehead. "Well. That was a thing."

***

They took Anathema over to a cafe for lunch. Aziraphale ordered the crepes with beaming delight. Crowley asked after the soup of the day (tomato and basil), then ordered it without bread, to save himself from dealing with his jaw popping and cracking as he chewed.

His request raised an eyebrow from his angel. "Rice krispy day, is it?"

"Mm."

Anathema gave them a confused look.

Crowley sighed, his face tight, but body relaxed in a half slouch. "Snap, crackle, and," he flexed his fingers, creating a soft staccato of popping joints, "pop."

"Ohh."

"Lesson seemed to go well enough. Think it'll sink in?"

"It's a base to build from, at least." Anathema tried her own crepes and found them delicious. "I can't make them change their beliefs."

Aziraphale had closed his eyes as he took a blissful mouthful of crepe. Now he opened them again. "True, true, beliefs have to be changed from the inside, and that can take quite some time."

"You'd know, angel. Took you practically forever to change yours." Anthony virtually inhaled his soup and pushed the empty bowl away. The smile he flicked to Anathema eased her conscience about making him sit and wait for them to finish.

Aziraphale huffed, "As if you, my dear, were any different."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Anthony waved a hand languidly, slow enough that nothing popped this time.

Anathema had to wonder just how much of his "evil" reputation was caused by the adaptations he'd made to accomodate his needs, from the way he walked to the slouch he sat in, to the sharpness where pain bled through into his voice. And how much had he built up as a scaffolding to support those accomodations to the point nobody thought anything of them?


End file.
